with joy! Give me hold of your hand, darlin'--
I'm afraid I'll lose ye ag'in if ye get out of reach
of me."

The two strolled slowly up the path to meet Jane,
Martha patting the girl's arm and laying her cheek
against it as she walked. Meg had ceased barking
and was now sniffing at Lucy's skirts, his bent tail
wagging slowly, his sneaky eyes looking up into
Lucy's face.

"Will he bite, Martha?" she asked, shrinking to
one side. She had an aversion to anything physically
imperfect, no matter how lovable it might be to
others. This tattered example struck her as particularly
objectionable.

"No, darlin'--nothin' 'cept his food," and Martha
laughed.

"What a horrid little beast!" Lucy said half
aloud to herself, clinging all the closer to the nurse.
"This isn't the dog sister Jane wrote me about, is
it? She said you loved him dearly--you don't, do
you?"

"Yes, that's the same dog. You don't like him,
do you, darlin'?"

"No, I think he's awful," retorted Lucy in a positive